


Phone Lines

by genteelrebel



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: BDSM, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, Humor, M/M, Sexual Roleplay, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 09:05:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3351020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genteelrebel/pseuds/genteelrebel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duncan calls a gay chat line and meets a stranger with a very familiar accent.  Will he ever be able to admit who and what he really wants?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phone Lines

**Author's Note:**

> What Genny Did With Her Winter Vacation: finished up those two Duncan/Methos stories that have been sitting on her hard drive for, um, practically forever. At least by mortal standards. (Query: Did Methos ever fancy himself a writer? If so, could some of those Egyptian manuscripts we see in his office really be rough drafts of stories he started way back when and still intends to finish one day?) Anyway, for the holiday I posted romantic sweetness ("New Tricks"); now that we’re well into the bleakness of the New Year, you get raunchy, somewhat angsty smut. Enjoy.
> 
> Special warnings for: language, sex, masturbation, bondage and domination, and rimming. Also a touch of water sports--but only four sentences worth, I counted. :) And a similarly small touch of blood play. In other words, quite a bit more consensual kink than my stories usually contain—which means it might not be for everyone. 
> 
> Timeline: This story is set during Season Five, just before “The Valkyrie” and the Horsemen eps.

_~City of Seacouver, 1996~_

 

Duncan MacLeod sat all alone inside his dimly lit living room, glaring at the newspaper lying open on the coffee table in front of him.

At first glance, the paper seemed inoffensive enough. “The Seacouver Resource” was a small, independent publication that catered to the area’s more liberal demographic: the cover featured an article on the latest local “Keep Abortion Legal” rally, with a sidebar on fall’s new ecologically friendly fashions. Duncan had seen the paper often, in the “Free: Please Take One” racks that were always located in the entryways of the local cafes and bars. But he probably would never have picked one up if Richie hadn’t brought a copy by earlier. “I was talking to a girl who worked in the Resource’s advertising department, and she thought it would be a great place to advertise the dojo,” Richie had said eagerly. “Mac, you won’t believe the rates!”

“Oh, I think I just might,” Duncan had answered, turning the pages thoughtfully. He might never have picked up the paper before, but he suspected that he already knew several things about the girl Richie had been talking to. First, she had to be young and pretty, and probably had used both facts to her advantage while hitting up Richie for a sale. Second, she didn’t just work for the paper’s advertising department: she probably WAS the advertising department, as well as the janitor and the copy editor and a good portion of the writing staff as well. “The Resource” was clearly compiled with more enthusiasm than professionalism, and Duncan would have given long odds against it employing more than five people, tops. Still, Duncan was almost seriously considering advertising—such local rags did have a way of bringing in business—until he read a few of the inner pages. Then all he could do was shake his head and lay the paper down, trying hard to conceal his amusement. “Richie, have you looked at the sort of ads this paper runs?”

“Not exactly,” Richie admitted, coming to look over Duncan’s shoulders. “Shelley said most of the advertisers were local establishments, you know, bars and things that serve the university. She said we’d fit right in.” Duncan touched a finger to a prominent quarter-page ad, and the young Immortal had choked back his words. “Oh.”

“Yes. ‘Oh’,” Duncan agreed. The ad was liberally speckled with silhouettes of curvy young women, and advertised “Seacouver’s HOTTEST Escorts! Our girls are always ready and willing! Call us any time!” A smaller ad on the same page informed the reader that “Marci’s Discrete Massage” was once again accepting couple’s appointments, and that “The Pussy Parlor, Seacouver’s Only Twenty-Four Hour One Stop Adult Superstore!” would be running various in-store specials all Memorial Day weekend. Richie had scanned them all, and then turned a most fascinating shade of pink. “Oh. Mac, I had no idea.”

“No. I imagine you didn’t.” Duncan had concealed his grin. He missed times like these, when he could still catch a glimpse of the inexperienced teenage boy he and Tessa had first taken in. Such moments were becoming rarer by the week, and Duncan had needed to resist the urge to ruffle Richie’s hair. He’d settled instead for giving the young Immortal a small shrug as he closed the paper. “Don’t worry about it, Richie. It *is* a good idea—we really should think about advertising in some of the smaller local papers. But I don’t think this is the one.”

“Are you sure?” Despite his embarrassment, Richie seemed reluctant to let the idea go. The budding publishing magnate at the Resource must have been a lot more attractive than Duncan had originally given her credit for. “A lot of people do read this paper, Mac. And Shelley said we could just start off with a classified…”

“Richie, have you seen the classifieds? They’re even worse than the page ads.” Duncan picked up the paper again, turned a few more pages, and held it out. The columns for “Men seeking Women” and “Women Seeking Men” were commonplace enough. So, these days, were the columns labeled “Men Seeking Men” and “Women Seeking Women.” What had raised Duncan’s eyebrows were the several categories that came after that. “Where do you think we should place our ad? Under “Polyamarous group seeking Other?”

Richie had squirmed. “I think there’s a section for personal services,” he’d said weakly.

“Even better. We can end up between the ad for the local medical marijuana distributorship and the over-fifties shoe fetish support group. Yes, Richie. I think that will attract *exactly* the clientele we’re looking for,” Duncan had answered dryly. “Look. I agree that advertising is a good idea, but this isn’t the paper for us. Try again when you’ve found one people can read without getting carded.” He’d rolled up the paper and smacked Richie playfully with it before tossing it onto the coffee table. And there it had lain forgotten for the rest of the afternoon. 

Until now.

***

It is a well known fact that neither mortal nor Immortal man can win a staring contest with an inanimate object. Still, Duncan MacLeod was doing his best. He glared at the discrete, surprisingly tasteful ad the paper had flopped open to with all the unflinching steadiness of the fabled man who’d tried to stare down the sun. Duncan *had* to glare, because if he didn’t, he had the strangest feeling he was going to pick up the phone and dial the nine-hundred number the ad contained. And that was…ludicrous. Preposterous. Insane.

Nevertheless, he was nearly one hundred percent sure that he was going to do it anyway.

Duncan slumped forward, resting his head in his hands. Clearly, he’d lost several of his mental marbles by even *considering* such a thing. He was Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, after all. Finding a night’s companionship had never been a problem. The last thing he needed to do was pay ninety-five cents a minute for the dubious privilege of speaking to “dozens of hot local singles.” If he wanted to “hook up” with someone, his course of action was clear. All he had to do was put on a nice shirt and a pair of tight jeans and head to the closest bar, and he’d be turning down offers all night. Most likely, he wouldn’t even have to pay for his own drinks.

There was just one problem. The people who would be sending him the drinks, like all the other people he’d slept with during the last four hundred years, would be women. And the chat line that was causing him so much mental discomfort was intended for men.

Exclusively. 

Exclusively for *gay* men. 

Duncan swung his feet around and sprawled on the couch, deliberately wrenching his eyes from the paper. It didn’t help. The chat line’s number was irrevocably emblazoned in his mind. He tried to tell himself this was just because it was Saturday night, and once again, he had no date…a fact that had been true ever since he’d returned to Seacouver from Paris, three months before. But, deep down, he knew that wasn’t true. He’d certainly had plenty of opportunities. That very morning, the woman he’d met in the produce section at the market had dropped her card into his shopping cart with a hopeful grin. But that particular number wasn’t tempting him the way this chat line was. He knew what a call to the woman would bring: a dinner at a nice restaurant, a film and then a trip to either his or her bed, and it would all have the boring sameness of a thousand other encounters. No. He wanted something new. Something challenging. Something different.

Oh, hell. He might as well admit it. What he really wanted was Methos.

Duncan pushed himself up out of the couch, swearing softly as he started pacing pack and forth. He had no idea just when this craving for the old Immortal had started. He rather suspected that he’d felt it from the moment he’d first laid eyes on the man, so enticingly sprawled on the floor amongst his books and music and modern art. But if Duncan *had* felt it then, he’d put it out of his mind so fast not even Sean Burns would have had the chance to shout “repression!” Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod simply did not acknowledge his attraction to members of his own gender. That’s all there was to it.

It wasn’t until Methos had first shown up on his doorstep in Seacouver, bearing news of Kristin’s arrival and looking more delicious than any man had a right to, that Duncan had let himself realize the truth. He wanted Methos. And not in a mild, heart-and-flowers sort of way, either. Duncan *wanted* him. Wanted to throw him up against a wall and savagely kiss that sarcastic smile right off his lips, wanted to get on his knees and suck him dry. Wanted to tie him to a bed and fuck him hard until they both exploded into ecstasy… 

The thing was, apart from the kissing part, Duncan had no idea how to accomplish any of this. And there were other problems, too. Kristin. Alexa. A little thing known as a Dark Quickening. Jacob Galati. And a dozen other happenings, both large and small, that had served to pull them apart. 

But now…now, Methos had taken an apartment in Seacouver for reasons of his own, reasons he had never quite disclosed, and Duncan felt his presence in the city like a constant itch below the skin. Several times now, he’d had to excuse himself from Joe’s halfway through an evening and walk out with his coat held over his groin just because he’d seen Methos licking peanut salt off his fingers. Duncan literally felt like a teenager again. And he had no idea what to do about it.

It wasn’t that his feelings were completely unreciprocated. Methos had let one or two things drop over the years that made Duncan think Methos wasn’t entirely immune to the attractions of his own gender, and he occasionally looked at Duncan in a thoughtful, calculating way that made Duncan’s entire body ache. But somehow, that just made the entire situation worse. Methos could make him feel inadequate enough, foolish and young and childishly naïve, when they were just talking about music or books. If they threw sex into the equation…something Duncan knew absolutely nothing about when it came to men…he’d be completely at Methos’s mercy. And he couldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t start a deeper relationship with Methos as anything less than an equal. 

So. The only solution, it seemed, was to find himself some experience elsewhere…but how? The thought of going to a gay bar and finding a stranger to teach him the ropes held absolutely no appeal. Picking up a prostitute held even less. Doubtlessly there were how-to manuals out there somewhere just like there were for straight couples. But Duncan didn’t just need to learn what went where during the sex itself; he also needed to know how to *get* there. What one said. How one acted. All the little subtleties of the seduction dance that he knew so well with women, but was completely baffled by when it came to men. Especially one man in particular.

Which brought him to the chat line. It seemed like a perfect solution. The ad promised “complete discretion” and Duncan didn’t doubt its word; surely such a service couldn’t stay in business if it leaked the names of its customers. It had to be more discrete than going to a gay bar, at least. Duncan suspected that if he called, nobody, apart from the computers at his credit card company, would ever know. And maybe he could find somebody to talk to about his problems, somebody who could give him a few pointers with a minimum of embarrassment. It was worth a try. Duncan looked at the paper one more time, took a deep breath and dialed.

“Welcome to Hot Talk, Seacouver’s first and best all-male chat line! If you need instructions, press one now. If you know how we work and want to jump right in, press two.”

Duncan dutifully pressed one and listened to several minutes of instruction, wincing the whole time as he thought about the damage the 900 number was doing to his credit card. He learned that the first thing he should do was record a profile introducing himself. Then he could listen to the similarly recorded profiles of every one else currently on the line. When he found someone he “wanted to make a connection with” he could send the owner a recorded message, and if the other man liked what he heard, they could adjourn to a private line. Always one to follow the rules, Duncan selected the number that would let him record his own profile. When the phone sang, “You may start recording…now!” he said the first thing that came to his head. “Ummm, yes, hello. My name is Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod…”

Shit. Shit! The moment he heard himself say the words, he almost dropped the phone in his hurry to key in the numbers that would erase the message. This might be a brave new world he was venturing into, but even he knew that using his own name wasn’t the brightest thing he could do. Fortunately, some guardian angel must have been overseeing his flailing at the keypad, because after a few tense moments the phone beeped. “Profile erased,” it said cheerfully. “Would you like to record again? Press one for yes, two to return to the main menu.”

Duncan punched “two” almost hard enough to damage the button permanently. The phone once again reeled off its list of options. Duncan calmed his heartbeat and tried to restart his brain. Okay, perhaps recording a profile could wait a bit. Maybe he should just listen to some of the other recordings first, find out what kinds of things other people said. He took careful note of the numbers that would take him forward and backward through the list, and settled in to listen.

“Hey, dude. Surf’s up. If you’ve got a thing for a hot guy in a wet suit, you’re in the right place. I’m twenty six, 5’11”, waxed from the neck down, one nipple ring, really pumped bod from catchin’ waves. Next to surfin’, my favorite thing in the world is jerking off my fat 7 inch cock with a buddy on a sandy beach…so if you’re into the same thing, give me a jingle. Box 751.”

*beep*

“Yeah, I’m an ex-cop, 6’2”, rock-hard shoulders and abs, hairy dick and balls, looking for a bad boy who’s up for some nasty back alley action. If you’ve got a hot, willing little pussy mouth that can take nine inches of throbbing love-muscle shoved all the way down your throat, give me a call. You’ll be glad you did. Box 374.”

*beep*

“Hi. Uh, is this recording? Oh, yeah. Um, okay. Hi again. My name’s Kelly, I’m new to Seacouver, and uh, kinda new to the gay scene, too. I was looking for someone to talk to, and, uh…maybe go out on a date? I’m nineteen, pretty slim and fit, small moustache, pretty cute. I love dancing at the clubs and I think Orlando Bloom is sooooo hot…

*beep*

“Hey there, all you sexy tops. Hot, super perverted pain slut bottom here in box 423 just waiting for a kinky daddy to put me in my place. I’m over twenty-one, so you can take me across state lines, but I can totally act younger if you’re into that. I’m into spanking, whipping, piercing, hot wax, anything twisted. Blonde hair, 5’8”, spend all my time at the gym working out if I’m not on my knees worshipping some sexy daddy’s cock or writhing under his whip. *loud groan* Oh, yeah, give it to me daddy; I can take anything you can dish out and beg you for more. *louder groan* Oh yeah, just like that. Yeah. Make me scream…”

This time, Duncan actually did drop the receiver as the sound of passionate groaning filled his ears. Whoever the last profile recorder had been, apparently he didn’t need a partner all that badly, after all. Duncan retrieved the phone with flaming cheeks, shaking his head at his own stupidity. He knew now, if there had ever been any doubt, that he was very unlikely to find what he was looking for here. He’d been stupid to assume that anybody actually engaged in meaningful conversations on an adult chat line. Maybe giving Grocery Store Woman a phone call wasn’t such a bad idea. Duncan started to hang up the phone, but as he did, the sound of the next profile distracted him:

“You know what you want. I can give it to you. Leave me a message. Box 122.”

Duncan’s eyes opened wide. It wasn’t the words that got his attention, although they were certainly remarkable enough. Where were the innuendos, the declarations of height and weight, the pretensions to fitness? The profile’s very sparseness proved that its owner was an anomaly. But the words were nothing compared to the voice that spoke them, a voice that flowed through the receiver like some rich, forbidden wine. Strong, cultured, accented, with a confidence that needed no embellishment. Devastatingly sexy. And very, very familiar.

Methos.

No, not Methos. Even in his wildest dreams Duncan couldn’t make himself believe that it was really Methos who had recorded that message. It was just another man with a similar accent: rare in Seacouver, certainly, but not impossible to find. Nowhere near as impossible as it was to believe that the World’s Oldest Man would actually be spending his Saturday night picking up men on a gay chat line. Once again, Duncan started to hang up. Then he stopped, thought a minute more, and tapped in the numbers that would allow him to record a reply. “I don’t know what I want,” he said into the phone. “But maybe you can help me find out.” He thought for a moment, added “My name is…Todd,” sent the message, and waited.

It seemed like an eternity before the phone beeped and informed him he had a new message. In reality, it was just under a minute. Duncan pressed the appropriate buttons, and once again the incredibly sexy voice sounded in his ear. “Maybe I can,” it said. “Let’s talk.” And that was all.

Duncan fumbled at the keys, trying to remember the sequence that would allow him to join this mysterious man on a private line. When he finally got it right, he was silent for a long moment—it felt like he was jumping off a diving board into very deep waters, an ocean from which he might never return. “Hello?” he hazarded.

“Good evening, ‘Todd’.” The words sounded more than a little amused. If it had truly been Methos saying them, Duncan knew exactly how he would have looked: hazel eyes glimmering mischievously green, mouth twisted up into one of his infamously impish smiles, looking as if he was secretly vastly entertained by something Duncan could never hope to figure out. “And how are we this evening?” the stranger asked.

“I—um, I’m fine.” There was a short silence. “I don’t know what to call you. What’s your name?”

“That’s for you to tell me, Todd. It’s part of the arrangement.”

“Arrangement?”

“I always use the same profile, Todd,” the voice answered. “Most of the men who contact me are a bit more decisive than you are, you see. They know *exactly* what they want, and are prepared to tell me about it in glorious detail. Naming me is part of the deal.” 

“Oh. I see.” Duncan forced out an uncomfortable little laugh. “Do you always become what they want you to be, then?”

“Not…precisely.” The last word was purred in a tone that made Duncan’s heart beat faster. Good God. What had he gotten himself into? “I’ll admit, I usually let my partner do most of the work. I pick out a man whose fantasy appeals to me. Then I make his dreams come true…but not always in the way he expects. I always make sure to throw in a few surprises, change the game around.” The speaker paused, and Duncan pictured a smile slipping away, an impish glint replaced with a deep intensity that stole his breath. “So, tell me, Todd. Who would you like me to be?”

The yearning in Duncan’s heart was so strong it was almost a physical pain. *Oh, god. I want you, Methos. I want you just like this—teasing me, taunting me, loving me and laughing at me all at the same time. I want you to know that this is me and for me to know that this is you, for this to be some elaborate game we cooked up between us. But I can’t have that. And so I’ll just take this…* Duncan laughed again, even more uncomfortably. “I already told you that I didn’t know,” he said. “That must have appealed to you, or you wouldn’t have answered.”

“True.” The stranger let out a merry little laugh that went straight to Duncan’s groin. *Head thrown back with the laughter so that a long pale throat was exposed, dark hair lightly disheveled by the breeze…* “Your simple, sexy little plea did indeed appeal to me, Todd. More than appeal—it made me hard. Very, very hard. Would you like to know why?”

God. Duncan closed his free hand over the couch’s arm, feeling his pulse thudding in his fingertips. “I think I would.”

“I decided it would be fun to get what *I* wanted for a change.” The stranger chuckled at Duncan’s sudden, audible breath. “Go on, then. Undo your pants, take out your cock. I want to hear you gasp as you stroke it for me.”

Duncan’s cheeks flushed rosy red. He found himself looking anxiously around the loft, half expecting someone to materialize out of thin air to frown at him. It was an old feeling rooted in childhood: whenever he knew was about to do something even vaguely wrong, somebody, somewhere had to be watching. It was stupid. Duncan knew it was stupid. He couldn’t shake the feeling anyway. “Now, now,” the stranger said when too much time had passed. “We’re not going to get shy *now*, are we? You have to be alone, or you wouldn’t have called the chat line in the first place.” Thoughtful pause. “Unless you’re the type that gets off on being almost discovered, and your steady boyfriend is actually right down the hall. In which case, I’d tell you to either go lock the door or bring him into the room right now. I don’t fancy being interrupted once we’ve gotten started.”

Duncan swallowed. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

The voice sounded bored. “Girlfriend, then, or wife. Whatever.”

“I don’t have one of those, either.”

“I see.” There was a silence, and Duncan tensed all over, expecting the voice to come back with an acerbic retort about his lack of social life. But when he spoke again, the stranger just sounded thoughtful. “Well. So much the better for me,” he said, and before Duncan could wonder at this, he spoke again with more firmness. “Enough, Todd. You’ve kept me waiting long enough. Undo those pants now; hold the phone in you lap as you do. I want to hear your zipper purr.”

Duncan hesitated—but who, after all, would ever know? The stranger would surely never tell. He would be just as guilty if he did. And he didn’t even know Duncan’s real name. Holding his breath, hardly able to believe he was really doing this, Duncan dropped the hand holding the phone to his lap and slowly undid his zipper with the other. It sounded very loud in the silent room, and Duncan was surprised by how exposed it made him feel, how naked. “Good,” said the stranger, when he could tell by Duncan’s labored breathing that he’d returned the receiver to his ear. “I like that you’re so obedient. And you enjoyed that, didn’t you? You wanted to make me happy.” Duncan, more aroused by the stranger’s mocking tone than he’d ever imagined possible, groaned a wordless assent. The stranger chuckled once again. “Yes, I thought you might. I’m going to reward you, then. You’re starting to get hard, aren’t you? Needing to be touched?” Another wordless groan. “Very well. Put a finger in your mouth, get it nice and wet, and touch yourself with it. Just one finger. You haven’t earned anything more. But I want you to run that single finger up and down your cock, tease that spot just under the head…oh, yes, you know which spot I’m talking about. Go on.” The voice became heavy with compelling lust. “Do it now.”

Stifling a whine in the back of his throat, Duncan did as he was told. The feel of his own saliva-slicked finger was unbelievably erotic, causing his already half-erect cock to leap to full hardness with speed. Duncan was almost glad the stranger had forbidden him to do anything more. He did as he was told, sliding it wetly over the length of his erection, than finding his frenulum—just the lightest touch there made him jump. He knew the stranger heard his gasp, because he chuckled. “Responsive,” the man said approvingly. “Oh yes, Todd, you are *exactly* what I wanted tonight. So shy on the surface, so awkward about expressing your desires. And yet underneath so needy that I suspect you really *would* do anything I said. I wonder…would you take off the rest of your clothes for me, if I asked?”

“I--” Duncan was past blushing now. The voice seemed to be hypnotizing him. It was wrapping around him like a length of heavy silk, surrounding him, becoming his entire world. “I think you already know that I would.”

“Yes. So I do.” There was an amazing amount of emotion in the quiet statement, a world of acceptance, even a faint underpinning of love. Duncan closed his eyes, startled by the way that acceptance affected him, adding another facet to the desire that was rapidly growing out of control. “Do it for me, then,” the stranger said. “Put down the phone, take off whatever you’re still wearing, and come back to me naked. I want to know that you’re completely bare for me.” 

“Yes.” There was no hesitance left in Duncan’s being at all. Quickly, he set the phone down on the couch and stripped off his shirt, letting it drop to the ground along with his pants and briefs. Once again, the stranger seemed to know the second Duncan had returned the receiver to his ear. He gave a satisfied hum. “Very nice,” he purred. “It’s a strange kind of intimacy, isn’t it, sharing voices like this? I don’t know you, after all. I don’t know what you look like or what your real name is. And yet, a part of me is there with you…a part of me really is in that room. Watching you. Wanting you. Can you feel my eyes?” Sinking back into the soft embrace of the couch, feeling the fabric against his newly nude back and ass, Duncan groaned his answer—he could indeed feel someone watching him. Only, instead of the judging eyes that he’d imagined before, it now felt….erotic. Compelling. “Good,” said the stranger when he heard Duncan’s groan. “You can feel my eyes. Now I want you to give me something to look at. Use your hands for me, Todd. Wedge the receiver between your shoulder and your ear and touch yourself. Not your cock. That can wait until later. But your chest, your arms, your neck—touch them. Slide your hands over your skin, lightly enough to make you shiver…oh yes, just like that. And imagine that I’m standing there watching you, following your every move.”

Duncan did. His hands felt strangely alien on his skin, as if they only half belonged to himself, and the other half belonged to the man who commanded them. “Yes, that’s it,” the stranger said breathily when Duncan’s hands found his nipples and the sound of his gasp filled the room. “A touch more pressure now…and harder still…oh yes, I think that’s just about right.” Rueful chuckle. “I really *can* see you, you know. You were beautiful before, with your trousers undone and your cock poking up into the air; now that you’re naked for me it’s so much better. All that lovely skin just sitting there, spread out for me to see…” A note of command came back into the stranger’s voice. “Move your hips, Todd. Fuck the air for me, put on a bit of a show. Imagine that I’m there, watching, and you’re showing me just how badly you wish it was my mouth you were fucking instead. Do it. Now.”

Breath catching in his throat, Duncan did as he was told, first rocking his hips slowly, then moving with more speed as he discovered just how erotic the motion really was. He never would have guessed that he could feel so much without touching himself, but it was true—just clenching his thighs and tightening his abdominal muscles in rhythm made his arousal climb out control. In his mind, Duncan pictured Methos suddenly coming into the room, perhaps letting himself into the loft unexpectedly as he sometimes did. Duncan pictured the other Immortal’s surprise, then a slow, lusty smile as his eyes dropped from Duncan’s face to his groin, tongue licking out hungrily. Duncan groaned aloud, and the stranger’s voice dropped to a licentious growl. “Very pretty,” he purred approvingly. “Such a pretty, naughty boy, sitting without any clothes on in the middle of his living room couch. So beautiful, with his hard cock throbbing in midair. If I was there, I really think I’d have to reward such obedience. I’d think I’d have drop to my knees and take you in my mouth.”

Oh, god. Duncan’s hips gave several helpless thrusts as he pictured it: Methos crossing the floor with quick sure steps, Methos’s eyes locking on his for a timeless moment before he knelt and wrapped those beautiful lips around Duncan’s cock. But… “Is that what you want me to be?” he hazarded. “Your boy?”

“No, Todd.” The voice was very strained now. Duncan could hear soft sounds in the background, the giveaway liquid squishing of a lubed hand sliding over hard flesh. The stranger’s breathing started to come in gasps between words, and the knowledge that the other man was touching himself, bringing himself closer to orgasm because of the fantasy they were sharing, did more for Duncan’s arousal than anything else they’d done so far. He started to pant, so loudly that he almost missed the stranger’s next words. “What I *want*….oh….is for you….Christ, that’s good… to be exactly what you are. A desperate, beautiful man who’s…yesss…about to come harder than he ever has in his life. Because of me. Because of my voice and what it’s telling him to do.” Brief silence, during which the stranger’s breathing grew more ragged still and Duncan’s hip thrusts doubled in frequency, pelvis wildly fucking the air as he listened. “Touch yourself now, Todd. Make a fist and rub your cock hard, harder than you’ve ever done before. I want you to remember this, this time tomorrow. I want to hear you scream…” 

And Duncan did, crying out with the first blessed touch and crying out even louder as he did what the other man asked, squeezing, rubbing, chaffing his skin in his eagerness to do what he’d been told. “Come,” whispered the stranger, and at the command Duncan’s body exploded, giving the stranger his longed-for scream as the pleasure lanced through him. His cock spurted hard, shooting powerfully over his lap and hand. The sound of the other man’s groans as he, too, climaxed, just added to Duncan’s pleasure; he spurted a second time, then, less powerfully, a third, and was left with a handful of come and a softening cock and a body that was utterly exhausted. He slumped back into the couch, listening to the stranger’s breathing gradually return to normal. “Wow,” was all he could think of to say.

“Wow, indeed,” replied the stranger. He sounded lazy now, replete. Duncan suddenly longed with all his heart to see Methos’s face in such a moment. Would satiation transform him too, gentle the sarcasm, soften the harsh edges? Would he be even more beautiful after orgasm than he was at every other moment of day? “I must thank you, Todd. You’ve given me quite the entertaining evening.”

“Yeah. Me too.” It sounded like the start of a goodbye, and Duncan cringed at the thought of being left alone. His apartment suddenly seemed too big, too empty to be in by himself. “Uh—do you have to go so soon?”

“Yes, Todd. I’m afraid I do.” The stranger sounded sympathetic and ever so slightly amused. Duncan flushed at the thought that he’d been so transparent. How stupid could he be, anyway? What did he think they were going to do now, talk about their days? “But I’ll be back on the chat line next Saturday night. If you like, we can talk again then.”

Hope flared as quickly as the loneliness washed away. “You mean that?”

“Oh, yes.” The other man gave a knowing chuckle. “You’re a natural at this, Todd. Do you honestly think I’d stand by and let Ex-Cop Rusty or Surfer-Bum Ted get their hands on you? It’s unthinkable.” 

Duncan’s breath caught. That last phrase was so Methos…but no. It had to be a coincidence. He gave a soft, embarrassed little chuckle, and he thought he could hear the warm smile in the stranger’s voice. “It’s a date, then,” the other man said. “I’ll be on the line starting about nine. Until then…goodnight, Todd.” The voice became softer, caressing. “Sleep tight.”

“Good night,” Duncan echoed, wondering how it was that he could feel aroused all over again when his body was so obviously exhausted. He waited until he heard the click that told him the line had disconnected, then hung up, cleaned himself up, and went to bed. 

It wasn’t until he was half asleep that Duncan realized the other man had never given him his name.

***

The stranger on the phone never did get around to giving Duncan a name. It didn’t matter. He gave him everything else, instead.

It was by far the strangest relationship Duncan had ever had, and also one of the most erotic. Every Saturday night would find Duncan home alone, freshly showered and shaved and staring impatiently at the clock as he waited for nine o’clock to role around. The moment it did, he’d call the chat line and dial in the numbers that took him to the user profiles—no need to listen to the menus now, Duncan had long since gotten the proper keystrokes memorized. Then he would wait, already uncomfortably hard, impatiently paging through the profiles until he heard the stranger’s voice. “You know what you want. I can give it to you. Leave me a message,” it would say. And Duncan would. 

After that, there was a ritual as set as the stranger’s profile. In a minute, perhaps a little more, the phone would tell him someone wanted to speak to him on a private line. He’d hit one to connect, breathless with anticipation. And then “Good evening, Todd. How are you tonight? Are you ready to play?” would sound in his ear. Duncan would nod, so instantly aroused that he’d forget the stranger couldn’t see him, and the stranger would laugh one of his musical laughs before his voice dropped. “What would like me to do for you tonight, Todd? What do you really want?”

“I don’t know,” Duncan would breath. “You decide…” And the stranger would take over from there, spinning out a fantasy while he told Duncan how to touch himself. Sometimes he was demanding, telling Duncan to stroke himself harshly until he came; sometimes he was gentle, telling Duncan to explore his entire body slowly while words of appreciation and wonder filled his ears. And sometimes he was taunting, as sadistically playful as a kitten with mouse, so like the Methos Duncan dreamed about that it was unbelievably easy to close his eyes and pretend. “Tell me about your cock, Todd,” the stranger said the third or fourth time they were together, when Duncan was still inexperienced enough to be capable of blushing. “Is it large? Pretty?”

“I—“ 

Duncan, who had been touching himself lightly ever since he’d first heard the stranger’s profile, froze in mid-stroke. The thought of describing such an intimate part of himself was daunting, to say the least. “My my, we *are* still new at this,” the stranger said, when too many beats had passed without an answer. “Most of the men I chat with already have a quite vivid description prepared. Length, width, color, whether it curves to the left or the right—one or two have even been able to offer me measurements in centimeters as well as inches. But never mind. I don’t need your words, if describing yourself in such terms makes you uncomfortable. I can see you quite clearly in my mind’s eye as it is.” There was thoughtful pause. “Are you a virgin, Todd? When it comes to men, I mean?”

Duncan felt his skin flush, partly with shame, partly with a nameless hunger he couldn’t begin to explain. He started to say yes, to throw himself on this strange man’s mercy and tell him the whole embarrassing truth, but something stopped him. He took a deep breath. “Would you like me to be?”

There was a chuckle of approval. “You’re learning,” the voice said appreciatively, and Duncan was surprised at how pleased that tiny bit of praise made him feel. “Very well. Since you asked, no, I don’t want you to be a complete innocent. You’re a man, after all, not a child. You’ve been around a bit, visited a gay bar or two, slept with enough girls and seen enough porn to know what you really want. But you’ve never been fucked, and you’ve never had a mouth on your cock that REALLY knew what it was doing. Does that sound promising to you?” 

“Yeah.” Duncan’s voice was husky. “Yeah, that sounds promising.”

“Good,” the stranger purred. “Now the only question is who I am to be. Somebody older, certainly. Somebody experienced, someone capable of taking what’s left of your innocence and using it for all it’s worth…but who? Teacher, minister, football coach?” The voice lowered, became poignant with sexy darkness. “Trusted uncle? Beloved older brother?”

Duncan closed his eyes. It was embarrassing to admit, but the stranger’s parade of personalities had stirred him. It had brought to mind every man he’d ever yearned for in his past, and then had to suppress the yearning for. But it didn’t feel right, somehow, to bring any of those old infatuations into this. Not when he was still so new at it, not when he was still picturing Methos’s knowing eyes and smirking smile on the other end of the line. He gave an uncomfortable chuckle. “You choose.”

“Mmmm. Oh, very well.” An impish quality came into the stranger’s voice. “God.”

It was a good thing Duncan wasn't eating or drinking anything. If he had been, he would have spit it halfway around the room. "God???" 

"Relax, Todd. I wasn't talking of a vengeful, old testament, looking-remarkably-like-Charlton-Heston kind of god," the stranger said. "Or even George Burns. Unless phone sex with aged actors should happen to be one of your secret kinks?" Duncan gave a startled bark of laughter, and the stranger chuckled a little too before his voice became more serious. "No. No lightning bolts or cigars tonight, unless we’re speaking strictly in Freudian metaphors. I was picturing something a bit more…personal.” 

The way the stranger drawled the last word made Duncan’s pulse leap. “Personal?”

“We all have our own unique pantheon of deities, Todd,” the stranger answered. “People we worship, people who have walked paths we admire and someday hope to follow them down. For some people it’s an artist, or an athlete. For others it’s a famous scientist or a politician or…well, anyone, really. The only requirement is that it be somebody whose life’s work has touched you deeply, makes you want to be like them.” The stranger’s voice dropped low. “So tell me, Todd. Who do you worship? Who would you fall to your knees for, if all he did was ask?” 

Duncan’s mouth went dry, an image of Hideo Koto suddenly flashing before his eyes. It was followed in close succession by one of Graham Ash and then, guiltily, of Connor, on a long-ago afternoon when the elder Scot had touched Duncan’s cheek fondly after once again fighting him to his knees. Then, so abruptly it took Duncan’s breath away, those images were replaced by something else: the memory of Methos confronting him in the dojo over Kristin, his eyes flashing darkly as he held Duncan’s sword. *God, but I’m predictable,* Duncan thought, with a sour tinge of self-disgust. *Talk about your Freudian metaphors. My heroes have always been swordsmen…but it’s true. The few men I have worshiped with my whole heart and soul have always been fighters, warriors who were willing to teach me what I needed to know. Even you, Methos. You may not have coached me much in terms of tricks or training techniques, but you’re always Teaching me just the same…*

But of course, Duncan could share none of that. It was too complicated, and would make no sense to someone who knew nothing of Immortality. He sought for something else to say, and was surprised when the answer was there right in front of him, so obvious he really should have known it all along. “You,” he said heavily, and knew that he was speaking the truth, not just flattering the other man’s ego. “You. I can worship you. Whoever you might choose to be.”

“Fuck.” The word was breathy, startled and aroused, as if the stranger hadn’t been expecting him to say that and had been turned on by it more than he could believe. Duncan felt an answering bolt of arousal shoot through him. He cupped his genitals in his hand, shifting restlessly as he waited for the stranger to decide what to say next, what journey to take them on. Duncan knew in his bones that it would be good. “Very well,” the stranger said when his breathing had recovered. “If you’re truly willing to let me decide…” Duncan made a soft sound of assent. “Well then. I’ve always wanted to be a musician.” And they were off and running.

Duncan listened as the melodious voice set the scene. The stranger was indeed a musician, a singer-songwriter who could hold a whole room spellbound with just his voice and his guitar. He wasn’t particularly famous as yet, but was well known in the local clubs, with several agents regularly dropping by his shows—fame was clearly knocking, it just had yet to come through the door. And Duncan was the college student who attended every gig, sitting in the shadows with his heart pulsing, too afraid to make his move. “You never bring your friends, and you certainly never bring a date,” the stranger told him. “You’re much too afraid that they’ll notice how you look at me, way up there on stage. Perhaps you’ve even lost a girl or two because of me, made them angry when you broke one too many Friday night dates to come to my shows alone. But it doesn’t upset you much. You know that no girl, no matter how pert her breasts or round her ass, can make you feel the way I do.”

“And how is that?”

“Connected,” answered the stranger. “Known. As if everything I sing about is something you too have felt, every note I play is something straight out of your own heart. And of course, this turns you on.” Knowing chuckle. “You’ve gotten to the point where you’ve thought about buying some looser pants just for show nights, since you know you’re going to get a raging hard-on the moment the lights go down. But the discomfort is just a part of it. Sitting there in the dark, hard and hot and tight inside your jeans, suffering because you need to come and *can’t*…it’s all a part of it. Such a sweet pain…but you love it, you really do. It’s a sacrifice you willingly give. You know that I don’t know your name, and will probably never even know that you exist at all. But you’re more than willing to give me this. Give me your wanting and your suffering, since you can’t give me anything else…”

Duncan hissed softly, hand working his cock frantically for a moment before he got control of himself and slowed his pace. God. How many times had he watched Methos from a distance, feeding birds in the park or laughing with Joe in the bar, wanting him so badly that his entire body ached? How many times had he mentally offered up that painful arousal to the other man as a secret, guilty gift, since he wasn’t brave enough to offer anything else? Duncan swallowed hard, then spoke thickly as he continued touching himself, just enough to keep his arousal from growing too unbearable. “Something tells me I’m going to get the chance to give you more than that soon.”

“Bright boy. Yes, you are,” the stranger said with approval. “I *have* noticed you, of course. How I could I fail to? The beautiful young man who attends my every show and stares at me with such passion, eyes following my fingers on the guitar as if he’ll die if he can’t feel them on his skin? I’ve watched you dance for me, watched you tremble as I sang. I’ve even seen you reach down to touch yourself, then snatch your hand away, looking around in embarrassment to make sure no one else had seen. Once you got brave enough to stand close enough to the stage for our eyes to meet, and that was…incredible, like I was licking you all over as I sang, fucking you with my voice. You shook for me then, quaking like a leaf while you got harder than you ever had before, and I…” The stranger’s voice broke, his own arousal getting the better of him for a moment, and Duncan squeezed down hard on his erection, forcing himself to wait until the stranger finished taking them wherever he wanted them to go. “Well. Needless to say, I was intrigued. Intrigued enough to stay at the club later than normal, in the hopes that you might find your way backstage.”

“And did I?”

“No.” The stranger’s voice was definite. “No. You ran. Bolted back to your dorm the moment the show was ended, probably to masturbate furiously in the showers, water turned up full blast. You were even un-nerved enough to miss my next show, and for the next few performances you stayed in the back row, hoping I won’t notice you in the shadows. But I noticed anyway.” The stranger’s voice became predatory. “And eventually I decide I’ve waited long enough for you to come to me.”

Duncan bit down on his lip. The stranger had sounded more like Methos than ever when he’d said that last sentence. The dark, rapacious tone was one Methos rarely used in his presence. But on the few occasions when he had—god. It had aroused Duncan more than anything, even as it scared him down to his boots. “What do you do about it?” he said, feeling as irrationally nervous as the young man in the fantasy. “Do you send someone to get me?”

“No,” was the instant answer. “You’re not an ordinary groupie, willing to spread his legs just for the promise of some good cocaine and a great story to tell his friends. No. I go to *you*, instead. Slip off the moment the last note is played and stand outside in the street—oh yes, I’ve played these clubs for years, know exactly which route a young man would take to walk back to the university after hours. You are the first one out the door, far ahead of the rest of the crowd. When you see me, leaning up against the building, you stop in the tracks. Once again, our eyes meet. And you know.”

“Know what?”

“What do you think, Todd? You know that I’m waiting for you. You know that you’re going to follow me home. You know that I’m going to do things to you there, things you’ve always wanted but have been far too afraid to ask for from anyone else. And you *do* want those things, Todd. You want them more than anything else in your life.” The stranger’s voice became taunting, playful. “Well, Todd? Will you run, turn on your heel and flee? Or will you follow me?”

“Follow…” 

Duncan breathed the word, so lost in the fantasy he was breathless, hardly able to speak in more than a whisper. The stranger made a pleased sound. “Yes,” he murmured. “You follow. We don’t speak; I just turn on my heel and walk away down the street. I never look back, and you never quite catch up to walk at my side. You’re always a few paces behind, too far away for me to see unless I turn my head, which I never do. Nevertheless I am constantly aware of you, just as you are aware of me. It’s almost as if we’re making love already. Your body reacts to every move I make, every step, every breath, as if you were already wrapped around my skin, and the need to feel more almost breaks you. If you knew where we were going, you would be running, hurrying to get there before you lose control. But you don’t know. So all you can do is follow me, step by slow, aching step. Waiting…”

Duncan gave a groan of deep pleasure. Yes. He knew it was like to walk with another person that way, so aware of their every small shift of posture and gesture of hand. He’d walked with Methos like that once, late at night along the banks of the Seine. They’d been so close and quiet Duncan would have sworn he could hear the other Immortal’s heart beating. If Methos had said a single word of invitation then, Duncan knew he would have followed him back to his apartment and made love to him, all his fears about his manliness and the equality of their relationship set aside. But Methos hadn’t. And so now Duncan was here, acting out this fantasy with a stranger, imaging it was Methos’s slim, tight body he was following through the streets. Duncan forced his hand away from his cock, knowing that another touch would send him over the edge, and tried to regain some sense of calm. “Don’t you look at me all?”

“No, Todd,” came the answer. “Perhaps I’m a student of mythology, and I know too well what happened to Orpheus when he dared to look back at Eurydice. Or perhaps I’m simply very, very good at this, and I know what the uncertainty is doing to you, how it’s making you feel. Whichever it is, eventually I lead you to a small house, let myself in, and leave the front door gaping behind me. You follow me into a living room which is considerably posher than you were expecting, then you turn to close the door. Your hands fumble on the knob, making you wonder for the thousandth time if this is really what you should be doing. But eventually you close the door and lock it, slide the chain into its holder. When you turn around our eyes meet; once again I say nothing, but even so you know what I want as clearly as if I’d spoken. You swallow hard, take off your shirt, and sink to your knees. Then you unbutton your jeans and pull them open, displaying yourself for me.”

“Yesss.” 

Duncan couldn’t help the hiss as a fresh wave of blood made it to his cock, turning the tip an angry red he wasn’t sure he’d ever achieved before without a flesh-and-blood partner’s enthusiastic help. The stranger chuckled in his ear. “It’s not the first time a man’s ever looked at you, is it, Todd? Not the first time you’ve ever shared this, not the first time you’ve ever undone your jeans and waited to be touched. But it *is* the first time your partner has ever been this much older. The first time you’ve ever been this unsure of yourself, this unequal. And it sure as hell is the first time that anyone has ever made you wait longer than a few heartbeats to get what you want in return. Because I’m going to make you wait, Todd. I’m just going to stand there and *look* at you while you throb under my gaze, wanting to move but unable to, as caught by my eyes as you were by my voice in the club. How does that make you feel?”

“Oh, god. It makes me—“ Duncan shuddered as he pictured it, kneeling in the front hall of Methos’s home while the old Immortal stood over him, his eyes as dark and inscrutable as night itself. “I can’t even begin to tell you how it makes me feel. I don’t think I know the right words.” 

“Mmmm,” the stranger hummed thoughtfully. “Well, perhaps I can help you there. Does it make you feel aroused?”

“Yes. God, yes. It does. Hot and excited and hard enough to pound nails. But also…” He stopped, tried again. “Also…”

“Frightened?”

“Yes.” A wave of strong relief went through him. The stranger really did understand, no matter how embarrassingly tongue-tied Duncan happened to be. “Yes. You’re so obviously in control and I’m so obviously not. I’m not used to that; it’s not the way my life normally is. But…there’s more to it than that. Kneeling in front of you, watching you watch me, it makes me feel…” He was startled by the wave of emotion that ran through him, one that made his chest suddenly ache with yearning, so strong it almost felt like it was breaking him in two. When he spoke, Duncan was startled to hear the shaky, choking quality in his voice that meant he was suppressing tears. “Wanted. It makes me feel wanted.”

“Oh, you are wanted, Todd.” The stranger’s response was breathy with promise. “Never question that. At this time, in this place, you are as necessary to me as breath…and if you still have any doubts, what I do next should prove it you. Because I’m finally going to touch you, Todd. I’m going to pull you to your feet and kiss you, hard…and while I’m busy devouring your mouth I’m going to take your cock in my hand and stroke you until you almost come. Not hard; we both know you’re too close to the edge for that. But enough that your body starts to shake, your balls pull up tight, you have to pull away from my kiss to breath, and I…” The stranger broke off abruptly, his breath almost as labored as Duncan’s. When he spoke again his voice was urgent in a way it had never been before. “Do you know how to use a cock ring, Todd? Do you have one handy? Or something you could use to improvise?”

“I—“ There was indeed a small leather cock ring in his bedside trunk, a legacy of his relationship with Dr. Anne. She’d thought the toy might compensate for some of their lack of chemistry. He’d let her use it on him more out of amusement than anything, indulging her since he found the idea only mildly erotic at best. Much to his surprise, he’d rather enjoyed the physical sensations the ring had caused…but he hadn’t enjoyed giving a partner that much control over his responses, which was why the ring had stayed in the trunk ever since. Now, though, it was different. The thought of giving the stranger this, of keeping himself back from climaxing until the stranger said he may, was overwhelmingly erotic. But somehow he didn’t want to use the same toy Anne had bought. He reached up to touch his hair, hand stroking down to the base of his ponytail. “I—I have a leather thong in my hair, tying it back,” he said. “I can use that.”

“Fuck.” The stranger sounded like he was on the brink of losing control, even closer to coming than he’d been all night. “Fuck, *yes*. That’s perfect. Use that. Don’t just wrap it around the base of your cock; wrap it around your balls as well—I want you all tied up for me like a little Christmas present. Unless…” Hint of hesitation. “You do know how to do so safely, don’t you Todd? Such toys can be dangerous in inexperienced hands.”

“I think I know what to do.”

“Just think?” The stranger was back in control again now. “If you don’t know for sure, you must tell me, Todd. I’m enjoying our little encounters too much to interrupt them prematurely. And a trip to the emergency room does tend to spoil the mood.”

“There’s no risk of that. I know how. And I’m doing it now.” He was already taking the thong from his ponytail, shaking his hair loosely over his shoulders. He winced a little as he wrapped it around the top of his balls and the base of his cock, the pressure feeling strange, alien—but also incredibly arousing, bringing sensitivity to a part of his cock he normally ignored. “I’m tying myself up for you, just like you said. Oh, god.” His hips gave a helpless thrust of the couch. “I want to come so bad…”

“But you can’t.” Oh yes, there was no question about it. The stranger really was firmly in control once again. “And you won’t. Not for a long time, yet. I have so much else to show you, first.”

And he did. Duncan actually found himself whimpering helplessly into the phone as the stranger told him about all the ways the musician intended to torture his young conquest’s cock, licking and caressing every inch before he finally grabbed the bound organ like a leash and led the boy into the bedroom in pursuit of even darker pleasures. Some of what the stranger described then disturbed Duncan deeply, particularly when he told Duncan in loving detail of the leather bonds he used to cuff the student's hands. Duncan felt the helplessness keenly, imaginary as it was. And that shamed him deeply, especially when his heart gave another keen throb that forced him to realize just how much he really wanted this, what he would trade to make it real. He almost wept when the stranger described feeding him his cock, forcing the young man's mouth open with his fingers before he pushed his hot, hard length inside--god, Duncan could *feel* it, could taste the salt and the bitterness and the heat, even though he'd never done this and, before Methos and the stranger, had never thought he'd want to. He vividly imagined his jaw aching and his muscles straining against the bonds as the stranger pushed deeper into his throat, stroking his hair soothingly but not allowing him even the slightest say or resistance, and that was...so damn perfect that Duncan gave up trying to resist, simply groaned his pleasure into the phone and wished he could voice his gratitude. How would his life have been different, if there had been some man in his past who had dared to touch him like this, show him how much bliss there could be in surrender? What kind of person would he be now if someone had taught him not to fear this extreme loss of control, but to revel in it instead? By the time the stranger rather breathlessly described pulling out of the student’s mouth and laying him face down on the bed, tongue gently forcing its way into his asshole in preparation for the fucking that was to come, Duncan was lost. He stretched out on his stomach and rubbed his own asshole frantically with saliva-slicked fingers, bound cock throbbing against the couch cushions as he writhed. “I’m going to be gentle with you,” the stranger purred in Duncan’s ear. “I’m going to enter you so slowly there will be no pain at all…oh, but it may *feel* like pain, the sensation will be so hot and strong. Do you want me to unbind your hands, Todd? Do you want to be free when I finally take you?”

“God,” Duncan panted. “Yes—no—I don’t know—“ And the stranger took pity and decided for him, un-cuffing the student’s hands from behind his back but binding him to the head of the bed instead. There he knelt, chest on the bed with his arms stretched over his head, while the musician came in behind him. “I’m ready for you now, and you are ready for me,” the stranger said. “My cock is against your hole--you can feel me there, throbbing, and you can feel yourself throbbing too, so hot, so needy. I reach around and untie your cock. Part of me expects you to come at once, I’ve had you bound for so long, but you don’t. You just hold your breath and wait, and the next thing you know I’m pushing inside. Forcing you open, sinking in slowly until I’m deep, so very deep. For a second we just hang there, feeling it together. Then I start to fuck you in earnest…take you the way you’ve always wanted to be taken, hard and fast and sweet…”

Duncan’s shriek rang across the loft. He stripped the thong from his cock with one hand and shoved the fingers of his other into his ass as far as he could. He didn’t care that the angle was awkward, didn’t even feel the burn of the nearly-dry entry as he lost himself in the sweet bliss of coming, coming, coming. The phone he’d wedged between his ear and shoulder fell to the floor with a clatter, but he was so lost he didn’t notice. He just collapsed helplessly onto the couch cushions, panting like he’d just fought the hardest Challenge of his life. The next thing he knew the stranger was shouting his name from the receiver, the sound tinny and distant. “Todd? Todd? TODD! Are you still with me?”

It took some doing, but on the third try Duncan managed to snag the phone off the rug and bring it up to his ear. “Sorry about that,” he said sheepishly. “I kinda dropped the phone.”

“Did you now,” the stranger drawled. “I’d hoped that was the case. That good, was it?”

“Oh, yeah.” Duncan’s voice was throaty and relaxed. He flipped over onto his back, body boneless, so sated and comfortable that he didn’t even care that he was now sitting in a sizable wet spot, or that it would take some serious effort later to clean the semen out of the suede. Duncan was up to the task: he’d had to do it before, more than once. It was just that usually it was after a visit from Amanda or another lady friend of his acquaintance, not phone sex. “Yeah. That good.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

A small arrow of uncertainty suddenly pierced Duncan’s afterglow. “You didn’t…ah, I mean, I was pretty distracted there. I didn’t hear…did you…?”

“Like a fucking geyser,” was the immediate response, and Duncan chuckled, once again perfectly at ease. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist that next Saturday you meet me here yet again, Todd. In fact, I think I we should make this a regular weekly date. I’m having way too much fun with you to let you go now.”

“I’ll be there,” Duncan answered. 

And he was. 

***

Their conversations changed, after that. The stranger still gave Duncan a chance to direct the action when he first phoned in, but after Duncan demurred he no longer held back, seeming to take it for granted that Duncan wanted to go wherever he led. And Duncan did. Sometimes it bothered him that he was being so submissive, that he did so much of what the stranger asked without question…but he couldn’t help it. The things they did together were addictive, some of the best sex Duncan had ever had. It just felt so good not to have to be the strong one for once, the one who figured out where the limits were and saw to it that they weren’t crossed. It felt so good just to relax and let go…

And when he did, he discovered that his own limits were farther out than he’d ever expected. Under the stranger’s direction, he fucked himself with his fingers, with a carrot, with the handle of a silver hairbrush Amanda had left behind. He wrapped his own wrists in the phone cord and strained against them while the stranger spoke to him from the speakerphone, pulling hard against the plastic-coated wire while he writhed naked on his couch, coming explosively from the movement and the sound of the stranger’s voice alone. The week the stranger told him to take the phone into the bathroom and let him listen while he pissed was the worst…and the best. Duncan stood with his legs spread in the shower for what seemed an eternity, too embarrassed to be fully hard and too aroused to be limp, trying to relax enough to do what the stranger asked. It took so long that he half expected his mysterious partner to give up on him, suggest they do something else. But the stranger was unyielding, and when Duncan’s urine finally did spurt forth the feeling was surreal, like coming for hours instead of seconds. He’d been wrung out after that, exhausted both emotionally and physically, and once the stranger had talked him through cleaning himself up he’d stayed on the line until Duncan was in his bed, tucked safely under the covers with the receiver in his hand. The darkness and the intimacy they’d just shared had made Duncan feel brave, and he’d finally said something he’d wanted to say for weeks. “Meet me,” he said urgently. “Next Saturday. Not on the phone…in person. Let me rent the most luxurious hotel room in Seacouver and join me there.”

The stranger had sounded regretful, but firm. “No, Todd.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re not ready yet.”

“And how the hell do you know that?”

“Because you still haven’t told me what you want,” the stranger answered. “All these weekend meetings, all the fantasies we’ve shared… it’s always been my own smutty mind creating the scenarios. You haven’t contributed a single detail apart from the occasional breathy “yes!”, which is a vague direction at best. No, our little sessions have been entirely too one-sided for me to want to take this into real life, Todd. My being in control every time makes it much too easy for you to walk away. To say that the whole thing was my idea, and thus none of your responsibility…”

“I wouldn’t do that!”

“Wouldn’t you? Are you sure?” The stranger’s voice was cruel. “I am a man of vast experience and widely varied tastes, Todd. Do you really think you’d be able to look yourself in the mirror if we acted out in life some of the things we’ve spoken about over the phone?”

Duncan shrunk back inside himself, remembering some of the more twisted fantasies the stranger had shared, the ones that had frightened him even as they’d made him explode like a volcano. Was it possible that the stranger wanted them to be more than just fantasies? Duncan knew he could handle that physically; he was Immortal, after all. He could survive anything the stranger threw at him, even if it would be hard to explain why he wore no bruises the next day. But what about the marks on his mind and heart? What about the complications of taking this into real life, of doing these things with someone who knew his real name and face? Duncan swallowed worriedly, and the stranger laughed. “Yes, that’s what I thought your answer would be,” he said. “You see, I’m only willing to play games with children over the phone, Todd. In real life, I’m afraid I must insist on having grown-ups in my bed. Until you can admit to yourself what you really want from me and ask for it, this will go no further.” 

“But—“ Duncan stuttered in mid sentence, feeling overwhelmed by inadequacy and loss. “I don’t have your imagination. I don’t know what to say.”

“Well, if the last three months with me haven’t given you some idea, then nothing will,” the stranger said bitingly. “I don’t require imagination, or eloquence, or even finesse. Just honesty.” Duncan made a frustrated sound. The stranger’s voice gentled. “It’s all right, Todd. I’m not going to abandon you. I will be here, on the chat line, every weekend that you want me to be. But that’s the *only* place I’ll be.”

It should have reassured him. Instead, it made him feel even more of a child. “My name isn’t Todd,” Duncan said pettishly.

“Of course not.” Once again, the stranger sounded amused, but this time it was a fond amusement instead of a sarcastic one. Duncan got the impression that if he could have, the stranger would have reached out to tousle his hair. “But it will serve, for now. Goodnight, Todd.”

“Goodnight.”

Tired and extremely frustrated, Duncan had hung up and rolled grumpily onto his pillow. What he should have said? Just what kind of answer was the stranger looking for? He kept to himself for the next several days, brooding about it, so lost in the question that he didn’t leave the loft except to exercise. He cancelled his master martial arts class in the dojo, telling the students he was going out of town. Joe’s bar he avoided altogether, knowing the canny mortal would immediately notice his depression and not wanting to come up with a lie to cover it.

But there was one person he couldn’t evade so easily: Richie. Saturday morning Duncan came down to the dojo for his usual daily workout and found the Immortal teen in his office, regarding him strangely. When he’d finished his final cool down Richie followed him into the locker room, hanging back awkwardly while Duncan changed. “Uh, Mac?”

“Yes, Richie?”

“There’s something I’d like to talk to you about, if you’ve got a minute.”

“What is it?”

“It’s, um…it’s about your phone bill.” 

Duncan, who was in the midst of changing his shirt, stopped dead. He looked at the teen, who was holding out his hands desperately in a “don’t blame me” kind of way. “I wasn’t snooping,” Richie said wretchedly. “I just…well, I was paying the bills for the dojo as usual, and I guess I opened your private bill by mistake. They do look an awful lot alike, and I…” He trailed off, catching Duncan’s frozen expression. “I just…I couldn’t help but notice. Either the phone company made a big mistake or, um, you’ve been spending an awful lot of money on nine hundred numbers lately.”

*I am not going to look embarrassed,* Duncan thought to himself. *I am not going to look ashamed. What I do with my time and money is up to me.* “Yes, I know,” he said. “It’s all right, Richie. I know what the charges are. I ran them up myself. It’s not a mistake.” *At least, not one the phone company made.* “And last time I checked, I’d been an adult for several centuries. What I choose to spend my money on is my own business.”

“Oh, yeah. Of course, Mac. Of course.” Richie nodded. “The thing is, um…”

“Yes?”

“I kinda…I kinda recognized that number you’ve been calling.” The kid fluttered his hands awkwardly. “Because I…uh, because I’ve called it myself.”

Utter silence. Incredulously, Duncan finished pulling his shirt down over his shoulders and stared at the teenager. Richie looked like he’d rather be any other place on earth but there, and Duncan could heartily empathize. “Oh man, this is so much worse than I thought it would be,” Richie said uncomfortably. “Look Mac, I know it’s none of my business. I just…I…crap. I guess I was just thinking that you’ve, um, never shown any interest in, uh, that sort of activity with, ah, guys before. So I was wondering if it was a new thing for you. And if it *was* a new thing, I just wanted you to know…well, that I’m cool with it, I guess. Because, you know, sometimes people aren’t. And uh, that I’m here to talk to about it, if you want. Because I know from experience that sometimes finding someone to talk to about this stuff can be kinda hard…” Richie’s forehead was shiny with sweat now. “And I’ll just shut up now,” he concluded, starting to back out of the room. “Look, just forget I said anything, all right? I’ll go back to my paperwork, you go back to the loft, we’ll pretend this whole conversation never happened…” 

“Richie,” Duncan said tiredly. Richie kept backing up. “Richie!” The kid stopped. Duncan patted the bench next to him. “Sit down,” he said, and Richie did, looking like he did when he was still sixteen and Duncan was about to lecture him for staying out too late. Duncan sighed, wondering just what was he supposed to do now. Well, it was probably the same as any other time when a student threw him a curve. He’d just have to wing it, and pray that things turned out as best as they could. “Thank you, Richie.”

The kid’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “For what?” 

“For having the guts to talk to me. I know how hard it must have been.” Richie looked startled, than pleased. *So far, so good….* “You’re right, Richie. Finding someone to talk to about…this…can be difficult. I’m glad you got the courage to speak up.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not so sure I am,” Richie said with a rueful little laugh. “I’m sorry, Mac. I really wasn’t being nosy, honest. I just opened the bill…and then I thought…”

“That I might need someone to talk to. Yes, so you said,” Duncan answered, nodding. “But Richie, maybe I should be the one apologizing to you.”

“What for?”

“It sounds to me like you’ve been dealing with…this…for a while now. Maybe I should have been there for you to talk to instead.”

“Oh.” Richie squirmed. “I…that’s okay, Mac. I mean…sure, it would have been nice, once upon a time. But I’m okay with things now.” He caught Duncan’s doubtful look. “Really. I am.”

“I see. Well, that’s good,” Duncan said. He leaned forward, resting his head tiredly on hands. God, but he was out of his depth here. “May I ask when you…um…”

“When I knew? Sure,” Richie’s cheeks went pinker still, but he nodded gamely enough. “Uh—well, I guess I always sort of knew that I liked guys as much as girls. Like, when I was little kid, even. I talked to Tessa about it once—“

Duncan’s eyebrows shot sky high. “You did?” Richie nodded. “She never said anything to me.”

“Well, she wouldn’t have, would she? That’s the kind of person she was. Trustworthy,” Richie said, and Duncan nodded. “Anyway,” Richie continued, look awkward, “She said not to worry about it. That it was normal to be a bit confused, and that I should wait until I was grown up before I defined myself one way or the other. So I just…didn’t worry about it. Put it out of my head, put all my effort into dating girls. And it wasn’t an act, either. I *liked* girls. I still do. You know how much. You’ve scolded me for getting distracted by them often enough.” Duncan chuckled. Richie grinned back at him, looking more relaxed. “So I probably could have gone on just being with women for my entire life. But then I…well, I became Immortal. And…”

“Suddenly it was safe to experiment.”

“Yeah,” Richie nodded. “No more worries about getting beat up—after you trained me to fight Immortals, handling myself against street bigots wasn’t a big deal. Even if someone did get in a lucky punch I knew I’d heal. No more worries about AIDS, either. I didn’t even have to use a condom anymore, although…” Richie looked thoughtful. “Come to think of it, I always did, anyway. It’s not like I could say ‘Don’t worry about it, I’m Immortal’ to just anyone, after all. And I learned real quick that the guys who are willing to take shortcuts like that really aren’t worth much in the sack…” He saw Duncan’s scandalized face. “Sorry. Too much information, I guess. Forget I said that last part.” He shrugged apologetically. “So. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“When did you know? What’s your story?”

“Uh…” Duncan rubbed his eyes wearily. He really hadn’t wanted the discussion to go this far. But Richie’s honesty and trust were very precious coins. Duncan couldn’t repay them with anything less than his own equal truth. “My story’s not all that different from yours. I guess I always had the…potential, to be attracted to other men. But, as you say, it was easier to concentrate on women.” He looked down at the floor. “I only recently decided that this was something I wanted to explore.”

“Cool,” Richie said, seeming to accept this as easily as if 400 years of sexual confusion was no big deal at all. Duncan relaxed a little. The young man’s face assumed an impish grin. “So. Is there anyone in particular who’s responsible for this new interest? I really should talk to him, if there is. Make sure he’s good enough for my Teacher.”

“No!” Duncan said quickly. Too quickly. Richie’s eyes widened. “No,” Duncan said again, much more quietly this time. “I mean, yes, there is someone…but I don’t want you to talk to him. He doesn’t even know I’m interested. *I* don’t even know if I’m interested. Not for sure…” He trailed off.

“Aww. Poor Mac,” Richie said sympathetically. “This whole thing really *is* new to you, isn’t it? Is that why you called the chat line? To get a bit of experience before you made up your mind to approach your guy?” Startled, Duncan nodded, surprised by the younger man’s perception. Richie looked approving. “It wasn’t a bad idea. They’re a pretty good group, the guys that call that line. And the owners do a good job of keeping everybody’s info private. It’s much safer than meeting people in a bar or picking someone up on the street. That can get dangerous, fast.”

He sounded very protective, and Duncan smiled at the incongruous picture of Richie warning *him* to be careful. “Teaching me now, Richie?”

“Hey. What goes around comes around,” Richie answered. He settled back into the bench with a sly grin. “So. Who have you been chatting with?”

“Excuse me?”

“Come on, Mac. It’s a pretty small community, that chat line. A guy gets to know all the regulars pretty fast. So who’s been monopolizing all your time? Rusty? Or maybe Tubular Ted?”

“Who on earth are they?”

“You don’t know? Rusty’s the ex-cop. He has a thing for breaking in newcomers, I thought that maybe you…” Duncan gave a very definite shake of his head. “I guess not. Well, what about Ted? He’s the surfer. The one that’s always going on about getting laid on the beach.”

“Oh. Him.” Duncan gave an awkward little laugh. This conversation was getting more and more bizarre by the minute. “I was wondering about that. Seacouver doesn’t actually have any sand beaches. Or any water that you could be naked in without freezing to death.”

“Hey, it’s the chat line, man. Reality shouldn’t interfere,” Richie said cheerfully. “I’ll admit, Tubular Ted lives in fantasy land a bit more than the rest of us, but still…” Duncan chuckled. “So, if it’s not either of them, who have you been talking to? It has to be someone in particular. If you’d been hopping from guy to guy, I would have heard about you by now. Somebody would have mentioned the hot new guy willing to spend the big bucks on long conversations.”

And *that* thought was so utterly embarrassing that Duncan tried to forget it the moment he heard it. “I don’t actually know his name,” he said uneasily. “He’s never given me one.”

Richie’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my god,” he said. “You haven’t.”

“Haven’t what?”

“Haven’t been talking to The Master. Have you?” Duncan just shook his head, confused. “The Master,” Richie said slowly, “is a legend. He only started on the line a few months back, but everybody knows who he is. He always uses the same profile, and it’s pretty weird. Just him saying: ‘You know what you want. I…’

“’…Can give it to you.’” Duncan quoted with a sigh. “Yes. That’s him.”

“Jesus Christ, Mac! Do you have any idea what you’ve gotten yourself into?”

“Apparently not.”

“The Master is…well, he’s the Master, that’s all,” Richie said in awe. “People talk about him like he’s some kind of god. Chatting with him is supposed to be like a religious experience. He’s only ever on the line on Saturday nights, and he’s very, very picky about who he’ll talk to. Sometimes he’ll go weeks without choosing anyone. Some people think he’s blind, y’know, with enhanced senses? They think he can actually hear the blood rushing to your hard-on, so he knows exactly what effect he’s having on you. Other guys think he’s psychic, able to reach into your mind and discover your deepest, darkest fantasies and make them come true. It’s supposed to be unforgettable…” Richie trailed off, then came back to himself with a little shrug. “I gotta say, Mac, if The Master picked you up on your first call to the chat line, you’ve given a whole new meaning to the term beginner’s luck. He’s never picked me. And I’ve tried. Repeatedly.”

“Maybe you should be glad he hasn’t,” Duncan said thoughtfully. “He can be…a little disturbing.”

Richie frowned. “He hasn’t been stalking you or anything, has he? Making threats?”

“No, nothing like that,” Duncan hastily assured. “It’s just…sometimes finding out what you really want can be a little frightening, that’s all.” 

“Frightening how?”

“Um—“ 

Duncan saw Richie’s curious, expectant face, and cursed himself for having said anything. It already felt like this conversation was taking place in the Twilight Zone; he was *not* going to discuss his sexual fantasies with his student. Not at all. It just wasn’t going to happen. Richie waited a few minutes more, then relaxed, a knowing look on his face. “Oh, okay,” he said. “I get it. He really rocks your boat, huh? Don’t answer that; I know he does, or you wouldn’t be spending so much money talking to him. And you must really rock his too, or he wouldn’t be doing the same for you. It’s starting to be more than just a phone fling, right?” Duncan gave a cautious nod. Richie nodded too, looking extremely satisfied with his own powers of deduction. “Geez, Mac. No wonder you’re freaked out. I mean, it’s bad enough, admitting to yourself that you’re hot for a guy at all. Finding out that you’ve got feelings for him too has got to be scary as hell. How far has it gone? Have you met him in person yet?”

“No. But I want to.” It felt strange to say it to another person, but comforting too, like saying it aloud finally made the whole experience real. “I asked him to meet me last week. He said no.”

“Oh, Mac.” Richie was very sympathetic. “No wonder you’ve been growling like a bear at everyone all week. It must have been hard getting up the courage to ask him at all. And then to get turned down…” Duncan frowned, looking for the hint of sarcasm in the words, but there was none. Just honest compassion. Odd. Had Richie suddenly grown up while his back was turned? “Did he give you a reason?” Richie asked. “Some guys *can’t* meet in person, you know. I chatted with one guy once, he had some kind of really disabling neural disease. Couldn’t leave the house and couldn’t have anyone come to him without his caregiver finding out he was gay. Phone sex was pretty much his only option. And some guys have jobs where they can’t risk being outed, and…”

“I don’t think it’s anything like that.” Duncan looked bleakly down at his hands. “He didn’t say no for forever. Just for now. He seems to think I’m not ready yet. That I don’t know what I really want.”

“Whoa.” Richie looked taken aback. “That’s…pretty impressive, actually.”

“It is?”

“Well, yeah,” answered Richie in a “duh, that should be obvious” kind of voice. “It means that he actually cares about you, Mac. I mean, if he just saw you as an easy lay, he wouldn’t really care what you wanted. Let alone if you were ready for it. Right?” Duncan flushed, a little embarrassed by this frank summing up of the situation, but he had to admit that Richie had a point. Some of his week-long anger toward his mystery partner began to dissolve. Richie fixed him with a steady, piercing gaze. “Is he right? *Do* you know what you want?”

“I don’t know.” Duncan’s shoulder slumped. “When I asked him to meet me, I was pretty sure I did. But then he brought up some things I hadn’t considered, and…” 

“What kind of things? Stuff like how other people would react? Or what could happen to the dojo’s business if everyone knew you were dating a guy?” Duncan didn’t answer—there was no way he was going to tell Richie what they’d really discussed—but Richie took his silence for assent. He laid a kindly hand on Duncan’s shoulder. “Oh, Mac,” he said. “I hate to tell you this, but your guy friend is right. You really *aren’t* ready for this yet. Maybe you will be soon, but first you’ve got to do some long hard thinking about what you want and how much you want it. And then what you’re willing to risk to make it happen.”

It was amazingly good advice. Duncan found himself looking at the teen with new respect. “Thank you Richie,” he said. “You’ve really helped a lot.” He smiled. “I think Tessa would be proud of you.”

Richie blushed and tucked his head shyly. “Yeah, well, I hope so,” he said. He started to get up off the bench, then stopped. “Mac?”

“Yes, Richie?”

“After you’ve done this thinking, and you decide that Mr. Sexy Voice really is what you want, make sure you two meet for the first time in a public place, okay? Just get together for coffee or something like that. I mean, I know I don’t have to worry about you getting any diseases, and if this guy turns out to be some crazy psycho serial killer I’m pretty sure you can handle it, but you never know. He might end up being an Immortal too, and decide it’s easier to take your head than work on a relationship.” The teenager shrugged. “That would, like, majorly suck.”

Duncan stared at him for a moment—and then he started to laugh, deeply, the release of tension so welcome he actually had to lay down on the bench. Richie laughed too, although not quite as hard, and when Duncan recovered himself he looked up at him, wiping his eyes. “It certainly would,” he agreed. “Majorly.” The Immortal teen smiled and gathered up some of the locker room’s dirty towels, heading for the door. “Oh, and Richie?”

“Yeah, Mac?”

“*Please* tell me you never called the chat line from the business phone.”

The kid’s smile was beautiful. “What, and have you catch me at it the next time you went over the accounts? Come on, I’m a much better sneak than *that*. I always called from my place.” Duncan chuckled. Richie smiled back at him. “Be careful, Mac. And be happy.”

“I’ll do my best.”

***

He went for a long run that afternoon, using the repetitive motion to occupy his body while his mind did what Richie had suggested: think, deeply and in great detail. About why he’d let himself get so wrapped up in this, how he’d let it get so out of control. About what he really wanted and what he was willing to risk to get it. When nine o’clock came, Duncan was ready. He sat down on the couch, recited a few brief mantras to center himself, and dialed the phone. 

The stranger was already on. It only took a few moments for them to connect. “Well, well, Todd,” the silken voice greeted him. “So we meet again. I was wondering if you were going to call at all this week, somehow.”

“I almost didn’t,” Duncan said honestly, and heard what he thought was a brief catch in the stranger’s breathing. Had he actually been worried, then? Would he miss this, if it went wrong, as badly as Duncan would? “But in the end I had to call. I couldn’t stay away.” 

“I see.” There was a brief pause while the stranger thought this over. “And just why is that, Todd? Don’t you ever get tired of spending your Saturday evenings with me?”

“You know I don’t,” Duncan answered. He took a deep breath. “But I thought we might try something different tonight, if you don’t mind.”

“Intriguing. What brought this on?”

“I met someone today. Somebody who knows who you are.” There was an eloquent silence from the other end of the phone. Duncan cursed himself and hurried to correct his error. “I don’t mean…I don’t mean *really*. Not in real life. But someone who knows who you are on the chat line.” He gave a nervous chuckle. “Apparently you’ve made quite an impression on the young gay men of Seacouver. Or bi, in this case.”

“One does one’s best,” the stranger murmured. “And just what did this young friend of yours have to say that got you so inspired?”

“He said you had an uncanny way of making fantasies come true.” Duncan swallowed. “I have one. If you’re interested.”

“So my little amateur has finally decided to try taking the stage, has he?” The voice was light, but Duncan thought he could detect an underlying tension, one that had never quite been there before. “Very interesting. And just where does this fantasy of yours take place?”

“I don’t know. I’d like to leave that part up to you.”

“I see. Am I topping or bottoming?”

“That’s up to you, too.”

“Really. It doesn’t appear that you’ve given this very much thought at all, Todd. Do you at least know who *I* am to be? Have a role for me to play?”

“I do.” With his free hand, Duncan squeezed the edge of the couch. This was it. This was where he rolled the dice, found out if his gamble was going to pay off. “You’re my friend.”

There was a brief silence. Duncan almost thought it was filled with a trace of shock. But then the stranger recovered himself, and spoke as caustically as ever. “Friend,” he repeated, with a hint of a sneer. “How boring.”

“You think so?”

“I do. But never mind. I did say I’d let you choose, didn’t I? I can work with this, make it more interesting.” He thought for a minute. “Shall I be your *straight* friend, Todd? Your college roommate, perhaps? The one you showered with and ogled a million times, but always thought was unattainable?”

Duncan shook his head. “No,” he said. “No. You’re my bisexual friend, or at least I hope you are. I watched you fall in love with a woman once, and it just about broke my heart, because she was good for you, and I could tell your feelings for her were real. But there’s always been a….a tension between us. It made me think we could be much more than just friends…” He broke off, giving an awkward little laugh while he ran his hand uncomfortably over his face. This was, at conservative estimate, about a million times harder than he’d thought it would be. “Although, I’ll be honest with you. Sometimes I wonder if the word ‘friend’ really applies to us at all. We fight. A lot. And even when we don’t, I never know quite where I stand with you, whether you really care about me or are just using me for reasons of your own. Sometimes I even want to hate you, it seems like we’re coming from such different places, have such different motivations for what we do. And yet…and yet…”

The stranger’s words were quiet, like snowflakes falling down to frozen earth. “And yet you want me anyway.”

“Yes.” Duncan nodded. “I do. I want you so much that my fingers itch to touch you whenever you come into the room, so badly all it takes is the sound of your voice saying hello to make me shudder and start to grow hard. I have almost from the day we first met. But I’ve never done anything about it.” He took another deep breath. “Until today.”

“I see.” The stranger sounded thoughtful. “And what makes today so different, Todd? Different from all the other days when you could have acted and chose not to?”

“I don’t know,” Duncan said honestly. “Maybe I’ve finally done some hard thinking, or maybe I got some good advice from a friend. Either way, today is the day.” His hand tightened on his knee. “I’ve thought about it and thought about it, trying to decide how I was going to let you know. How do you tell a man you’ve known for three years, sometimes ignored, sometimes treated badly, that you’ve really been in love with him all along? I don’t know. The best I can do is to hope that somehow you’ll know it without my telling you. Like the musician and the boy. That you’ll look up at me, and just—just *see*. And walk out of wherever it is we are together at my side…” Duncan stopped. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t very original. But that’s how I see it happening. I really do.”

“It’s all right, Todd,” the stranger said soothingly. “I already told you that I only wanted honesty, not creativity or anything else. So this time, I’m following you, am I? Where do you take me?”

“You don’t follow me,” Duncan corrected. “You walk by my side. As for where we go…god, I really don’t care. I meant it when I said I’d let you choose. Your place, my place, a hotel room down by the Sound…it doesn’t matter. All I want is a bed and door we can use to shut out the world. Because I want to shut out the world. I want to close that door knowing that this really it, that we’re finally alone, that neither of us is going to go anywhere else anytime soon. And then I want…” Duncan’s voice caught, his heart suddenly filled with too much emotion to go on. “I want…”

“Shhh. It’s all right, Todd. It’s all right,” the stranger said gently. “Shall I take over for a little while?” Duncan made a quaky sound of assent, and the stranger’s voice dropped low, into the deep, hypnotic register Duncan had come to know so well. “I couldn’t believe it when I looked up and saw what I saw in your eyes,” he said. “To have waited for you for so long, and then to have all I ever wanted suddenly laid out there in front of me…it totally undid my head. I’d given up on it ever happening, you see. It was only the practice of a lifetime that let me walk at your side without tripping over my own feet. Even now that we’re alone together and you’ve finally shut that door, I can barely believe it. I reach out my hand and…can I touch you, Todd? Really touch you, prove to myself that this is real?”

“Yes,” Duncan whispered. “Yes.” 

“Yes,” the stranger agreed. “Your skin feels so rich under my fingers, Todd. So soft, so warm, so many textures. I could lose myself in it, lose all sense of time in touching you for hours. The way you close your eyes when I touch your face, grabbing onto the wall for support, makes me think you’d like it if I did. But…as you lean into my touch, suddenly I’m angry. Because I know now. I know that you really do want me, always have, and the thought that you kept me waiting for so long fills me with rage. We could have had this so much sooner, but you denied me, denied us. Don’t try to say I’m wrong. It wasn’t that you didn’t know if I wanted you back…you *did* know. And you denied me anyway.” The stranger’s voice became sharper, filled with tension. “Do you understand that, Todd? Understand that I’m not going to be able to be gentle with you, as gentle as a first-time lover should normally be? Do you understand that there must be some anger in the way I take you, as well as bliss?”

Duncan gasped. The words ran through him like a wildfire, brining every sense to life. He felt the stranger’s rage and cherished it, because it was real. It was the way things had to be. “Yes. Oh, yes.”

“Yes,” the stranger repeated. “Yes. All right. I’m going to kiss you now, Todd, but it’s not going to be your ordinary first kiss. Oh, no. No gentleness here, no sweetness; I’m going to kiss you brutally, so brutally I split your lower lip against your teeth. Can you feel the pain?”

Duncan caught his lower lip between his teeth. He felt the sharpness of his incisors as he bit down into the tissue, causing a rush of heat as the skin broke and began to swell. “Yes.”

“Yes,” the stranger agreed. “You feel it, and all you want is more. The taste of your blood fills both our mouths, but you don’t care. You know this is what you owe me, the price you have to pay. And pay you do, so willingly I have to wonder--what else do you have to give, Todd? What else will you let me take?”

“Anything.” The answer was easy, and meant with his entire heart. “Everything.”

“Mmmm.” It was a thoughtful sound, a considering sound. “I’m not sure that I believe that, Todd. After all, many men have offered me ‘everything’ before. It usually turns out to be a check from an account that’s long been overdrawn. But then I drop my lips to your neck, and it’s a revelation. Everything I do makes you squirm and grow harder, whether I’m sucking you or biting you or just letting my breath ghost across your skin. I pull you away from the wall and push you onto the bed, and as I do, I suddenly know the truth. All these years, I’ve been waiting for you to come to me, to tell me what you really want. Now I know. And the knowledge is bliss itself.” He gave a breathy sigh, then spoke commandingly. “Take you cock in your hand, Todd. Touch yourself, the way I would if I was there. I’m about to make you come so hard you see the stars…”

As if it had a mind of his own, Duncan’s hand dipped into his pants, closing on his already hard organ with a ferocity that made his head swim. The stranger was right. He really was about to come; his own overwhelming need and the fantasy had seen to that. But there was something he had to know first. “Wait,” he grunted. “Wait. How can you know what I want? I don’t even know, not for sure…”

“But I do.” The voice was incredibly self assured, despite the heavy breathing that gave away its owner’s fierce arousal. “Oh, yes, I know what you want. It’s so simple and so audacious, no wonder you’ve never been able to tell anyone before, or even admit it to yourself. But you can admit it to me, because I understand—I *have* to understand, because I’m just the same. You want...everything. Don’t you?”

Duncan made a pitiful sound, a squeak that had almost nothing to do with his rapidly rising orgasm and everything to do with the sweet pain of being known, his deepest selfishness stripped naked and exposed and…dear god, understood, accepted and even loved. “Yes,” the voice continued in his ear. “You want it all. Want to top and bottom, give and take, taunt and love and be taunted and loved and never have it end. I know this, and so do you…and the moment you say it loudly enough for me to hear it I’ll let you come, so hard and sweet you won’t be able to see straight for hours. So tell me, Todd. Tell me. Admit to me what you really want.” 

Duncan heard harsh, rasping breathing, and knew that the stranger was moments away from his own orgasm. The knowledge fired him, took him right to the very edge. He knew he had to speak then, before he came and the words were locked away in his heart forever. “I want it all,” he admitted, hand moving over his erection in a blur. “I do. I want to give…and take…and I want to do it all with you. With you, Methos. With you…”

And there was silence on the phone line, silence in the whole fucking *world*, as Duncan’s orgasm swept over him, filling his ears with white noise and his body with fire. When the spasms finally subsided, there was sound once again: but it was subtle, just the hum of the phone line and his own ragged breathing. There was no word from the stranger at all. Duncan waited, waited, his entire being caught up in the waiting, like his soul was in a purgatory some taunting god had invented just for him. Finally, the stranger spoke. “Meet me at Joe’s tomorrow afternoon, MacLeod,” he said. “We can talk more then.” 

And he hung up, leaving just a click and the sound of a dial tone ringing in Duncan’s ears.

**The End**


End file.
